Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr

7/30/2019 Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr

1/12

Sadie Matthews 2013 The right of Sadie Matthews to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons,living or dead, is purely coincidental. A CIP catalogue record for this title isavailable from the British Library. ISBN 978 1 444 77588 4 Hodder & Stoughton Ltd 338 Euston Road London NW1 3BH www.hodder.co.uk


2/12

To J. T.


3/12

CONTENTS

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Epilogue Acknowledgements


4/12

Fire After Dark The First Week Chapter One Secrets After Dark About the Author


5/12

CHAPTER ONE

Im in a sleek snub-nosed Bentley, leaning against the black leather seats and looking out of the tinted window at the snowy streets of St Petersburg. In front ofme are the driver and the meaty bodyguard who sits beside him, their salt-and-pepper stubble blurring the toughness of their skulls. The doors of the car are tightly shut, the stub of lock sunk down into the black leather below the window.For a moment, I imagine trying to claw it up with my fingernails but I know that would be impossible. There is no way I can escape. But even if I could, wherewould I go? I dont know this city, I dont speak the language and I have no money;even my passport has been locked away in the hotel safe. And Ive been warned thatthis place is dangerous. Ive been told that Im vulnerable and thats why I will notbe permitted to be alone at any point when Im out of the hotel. I have my mobilephone but Im not sure who I would ring. My parents are far away, at home in England. I wish with all my heart that I was there right now, walking into our cosykitchen where my father is reading the paper over his afternoon cup of tea whilemy mother bustles around, trying to do six things at once and urging Dad to move his feet out of her way. On the stove


6/12

something delicious is cooking and the radio is playing a classical concert. I can conjure it up so clearly, I am almost able to smell the stew, to hear the music. I want to rush to my parents and hug them, tell them not to worry. But theyrenot worrying. They know where I am. They think Im perfectly safe. And I am. Im being very well looked after. Too well? I try to repress the shiver that threatensto convulse me. A pair of blue eyes is fixed on me. I know this even though Im not looking at the man beside me. I can feel his laser-beam gaze burning on my skin, and Im hyper-aware of the body only a seats width away from me. I dont want himto know that Im scared. Your vivid imagination! I scold myself. Its going to be your downfall. Youre perfectly all right. Were not going to be here for long. Were leaving the day after tomorrow. This ought to be a dream come true for me. Im herebecause Mark, my boss, is too ill to come himself but despite the sad circumstances, its an amazing opportunity. Ive always longed to visit the Hermitage, to seesome of its massive collection of art treasures, and now Im being taken there, not just into the gallery but into the very heart of it, to meet one of its experts. He is going to give us the verdict on the lost Fra Angelico painting that Marks


7/12

employer Andrei Dubrovski bought recently, now that its been properly analysed. This is the trip of a lifetime and I should be elated, excited. Not afraid. I tryto stifle the words before theyve sounded in my head. Im not afraid. Why should Ibe? And yet . . . We arrived last night, touching down at the airport in AndreiDubrovskis private jet. As usual, the formalities were done quickly and confidentially. I wondered what it would be like when I had to go back to queuing at passport control, lining up for my security check and getting myself to some far-off gate to catch a flight. All this VIP treatment would spoil me for ever if I wasnt careful. We went straight from the plane to a stretch black limo a little flashier than I would have expected from a man of Dubrovskis taste but maybe thingswere different when he was in Russia and glided out onto the highway for the short trip into St Petersburg. What do you think of Russia so far? Andrei asked as the car purred smoothly past the other traffic on the highway. I gazed out into the night but there was not much to see beyond the car window. Ahead the darknesswas tinged with orange, the illumination of the big city leaking into the vast night sky above us. Its hard to tell, I replied. Ill let you know in the morning.i laughed. I know what youll say. Its bloody


8/12

cold. Believe me, London will feel like a tropical paradise in comparison. I laughed too, and hoped it sounded convincing. Ever since our flight, my emotions hadbeen in turmoil. Andrei, for whom Id been working for a few weeks, revealed thathe knew about my relationship with Dominic, and that Dominic and I had parted.Even so, he didnt bother to spare my feelings by telling me that as far as he wasconcerned Dominic was now his enemy. And then he said those three words, the ones that had turned my world upside down. No more games. Those were the words spoken in my ear by the man who made passionate love to me in the darkness during aparty in the catacombs. I had thought it was Dominic but now I feared that it had been Andrei after all. The problem was, my perceptions were completely undermined by the fact that I had almost certainly been drugged, most likely by Anna,Andreis now ex-lover and employee, whose passionate feelings for Dominic caused us all sorts of trouble. Just thinking about that night at the strange underground party made my stomach swoop and churn. If I made love to Andrei then I was unfaithful to Dominic, consciously or not. And if Andrei is the kind of man to takeadvantage of a woman who is clearly not herself, what else is he capable of?


9/12

I glanced over quickly at Andrei, who had taken his eyes off me for a moment tolean forward and mutter something in Russian to his bodyguard. His physique wassimultaneously attractive and a little menacing, his shoulders broad inside hisdark overcoat, his hands large and strong. The perfectly tailored charcoal woolsuit he was wearing did little to disguise the hard, muscled body within. His face was craggy, with piercing blue eyes and an unsmiling mouth with its stubborn,jutting lower lip. Despite my love for Dominic, I had at times felt the shiverof attraction that his physical magnetism exerted over me. I hated myself for it, but I couldnt help it. Perhaps that was why I was in such agonies over the possibility that he and I had made wild passionate love against the cold stone wallof the cave: part of me knew I wanted it, despite what I told myself. It wasnt asthough hed acted against my wishes. He had asked me if I wanted to and I had practically begged to be fucked as hard as possible. It had certainly been consensual. Except for the small matter of his identity. Did he know that I thought he was Dominic? It was impossible to know without asking him and I hadnt yet gatheredup my courage for that particular line of questioning. What is it, Beth? Andreis rasping, almost harsh voice breaks into my thoughts. Startled, I jump. I havent


10/12

realised that Im still staring at him as my brain whirls round the recent events,trying to piece it all together. N-nothing, I say. I regain my composure as quickly as possible. Are we nearly there? I realise that weve slowed down and have beenedging forward at a snails pace for a few minutes now. St Petersburg traffic, Andrei says shortly. Its renowned for being awful, especially when theres snow on the roads, which you can imagine is fairly often. But I think were almost there now. Itsonly mid-morning but already it feels like evening, with the low grey clouds heavy with more snow pressing down upon us. I stare out of the window again, and realise that we are coming up to a vast broad river and on the opposite side is the most incredible faade of buildings: a collection of baroque palaces, their hundreds of windows glittering darkly, pressed close, distinct and yet a group. Theyare dominated by a palace so large and ornate, it looks as though it comes froma film or a storybook. The Hermitage museum, Andrei announces proudly. Surely themost beautiful museum in the world. Such grandeur, such beauty. He indicates thelargest, most baroque of the palaces, with its vast stretch of white columns anddark green walls between porticoed windows. Thats the Winter Palace, home to theRussian Emperors. From there, they ruled over 125 million souls and one sixth ofthe earths surface. Impressive, isnt it?


11/12

Hes right; its a magnificent sight. For a moment I imagine Im Catherine the Great being conveyed in a magnificent carriage towards my spectacular home, full of theextraordinary works of art Ive collected. Then I remember what it must have beenlike to be an ordinary Russian, excluded from the luxurious, gilded life within, only good for toiling on its construction, or being taxed to pay for the glorious art on its walls without ever having the privilege to see it. But times havechanged. These are now public buildings that can be accessed by all. Everyone can enjoy their beauty and the treasures that lie inside. What do you think? Andreipresses. Amazing. I cant say more, Im overwhelmed. We cross the river and approachthe Winter Palace by the Embankment, then stop at a large wrought-iron gate thatsshut fast. A moment later, a man rushes out to open it and wave us through andthen were inside a courtyard with a garden in the centre thats blanketed in snow,its bare trees with their white-laden branches black against its walls. The gateis closed behind us. Nicholas IIs daughters used to play here, Andrei remarks as the car swoops to a stop in front of an ornate front door. Imagine, four little grand duchesses running around, laughing, throwing snowballs at the soldiers protecting them. Not knowing what a miserable death awaits them.


12/12

The driver has already got out and has opened the door on Andreis side. I shiveras icy air rushes into the warm interior, and push the thought of the fate of those children from my mind. I put on my hat and gloves as the driver comes aroundto open my door. He helps me step out onto the icy

Documents

Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr